


Proving

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-26
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-08-30 01:57:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16755679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: Leske notices Evard waking and taps him on the temple, it's a tiny detail in a long day: Brosca walks out of the arena without being unmasked. Aeducan is curious at who is under the armour because he doesn't remember Evard ever being that good.





	Proving

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a [prompt on dragonage_kink on dreamwidth.](https://dragonage-kink.dreamwidth.org/79426.html?thread=301421122#cmt301421122)

“Whu'appen'd?” Leske whirled round with a curse at the slurred voice to see the dwarf he was meant to be watching swaying his way along the corridor. A quick glance showed no-one else paying them any mind, everyone still too intent on the battle between 'Evard' and Aeducan in the arena. It was all too easy to draw his knife from it's hidden sheathe in his boot and forcefully tap the supposed warrior in the temple. It was a little harder to haul an unconscious dwarf back to his ready room and carefully shut the door with nobody the wiser but Leske had been doing things like this for long enough that it wasn't an impossible feat.

That was one problem sorted. Hopefully. Next he just had to work out how to get Faren out of the nug shit he'd landed himself in now. He'd won the proving, saved Beraht's little gamble, and then the nug humping Prince had stood up and declared that he wished to fight.

The roar of the ground swells and abates, the sudden hush doing nothing for his fidgeting as he imagines his friend being killed in so many different ways when they unmask him. The rising roar of the crowd once more doesn't help. Leske pushes himself back into the shadows as the doors open, even with a pass to allow him to be present he feels out of place. The Prince doesn't even see him, sweeping by with his second. Faren certainly does, shooting him a wide eyed look as he dutifully follows the Prince and Leske is left alone with an unconscious warrior instead of a friend who's probably going to be killed when he has to remove the helmet. Just great.

\----------

Faren can feel his heart plummeting with every step he takes as they near the palace. The door to the Prince's quarters shutting is like the closing of a prison door. There's no way he's going to get out of here. He thought he'd done it. He'd won the damn provings, was about to turn and leave. Get out of the armour and get the fuck away before anyone was any the wiser and then the Prince stood up and declared that he would fight. Just because he could. 

He'd been so close to keeping Rica safe that he just wants to scream in frustration. Because the Prince is going to call the guards, they'll investigate and Beraht will still lose his fucking money. And that's all it boils down to. The slimy nug humper who has a hold on the only thing Faren cares for. His sisters life is worth a few gold pieces lost in a bet.

“So.” The Prince says after he removes his helmet and turns round, voice suddenly as hard as granite, “care to tell me who you are?” His hand is resting on the mace that he hadn't removed, although Faren's less worried about that than he is the Prince's second, an unknown who is still behind him. His duster senses are telling him now is the time to circle round and get his back against a wall. His body is telling him it doesn't matter. He's fought through the provings and everything aches, he'd never match a fresh fighter right now.

What's it going to matter anyway? He'll have to answer eventually. He's got as much choice now as he did when he put on the armour. None at all. “M'names Faren.” He says, ignoring the twitch of an eyebrow at his accent before he pulls the helmet off and tosses it to one side, raising his head to stare the Prince in the eyes. If he's going to die he'll at least go with some amount of pride.

\----------

Duran almost called for the guards as the dwarf raised his head and let the damning mark on his face come into view. The clang of the helmet bouncing off the wall was loud in the sudden silence. He'd thought this was another warrior fighting on a bet or a dare. This though. He can't help the faint chuckle that escapes him, ignoring Gorim's scandalised look as his second circles round enough to see the ink. A brand not only had the balls to enter the provings but damn near won them. Stone, he would have won if Duran hadn't decided to fight. And it had still been a close match, if this Faren hadn't already been through several matches he'd probably have won. Would that he had been born a warrior caste.

“I'm going to presume you were doing this for a better reason than just flaunting tradition?” He asks, watching the brand shift his weight slightly in response as he clearly decides what to say.

The answer is slow in coming, as if he's weighing what to say. “You heard of Beraht?” Duran nods, of course he's heard of him. One of the carta thugs father would really like to eliminate if they could just find his hide away and actually pin something onto him that they could make stick. The carta, no matter what they tell the lower castes, are necessary, but there's still a line they shouldn't be allowed to cross. Beraht's been dipping his toe over the line for years. “Right, well, 'e 'ad a bet on Evard to win. A big bet to be exact. I was sent to make sure 'e won.”

If they could get that to stick, rigging provings is an automatic exile or death sentence. “So you decided to fight for Evard, I doubt he agreed to that.” Evard might be a coward and not the best warrior out there but even his sense of honour wouldn't sink so low.

The brand burst into laughter, slightly hysterical laughter, that spoke of a dwarf being pushed to their limits. “'E was totally sozzled.” He lifted an arm to regard the plate gauntlet that covers it. “'E wouldna been able to get into this let alone walk in the right direction.”

“And Beraht's displeasure is enough for you to risk your life impersonating him?” Gorim asks, finally unable to hold in his curiosity. Duran just nods when the brand ignores his second, telling him without words to answer the question.

The brands jaw clenches as he looks at the ground before finally back at Duran. “I've got a sister. If I failed to make sure Evard won...” he trails off, plates clanking slightly as he shifts.

“Beraht would have her killed.” The brand winces, clearly confirming Duran's guess.

“Or worse.” Faren says quietly and Gorims lips thin in displeasure. The warrior caste are rather more strict on what constitutes appropriate behaviour when fighting; leaving the non combatants out of a fight is one of them. Still, it explains why the brand would be so willing to risk a public and humiliating execution.

This is still the time he should be calling the guard in. Should be. Yet there's a plan starting to form in Duran's mind. Even the casteless have a form oh honour. If he saves his life, keeps Evard quiet and thus keeps the brands sister safe. Well, he'll have an informant on the inside. He might only be good for one deal, a repayment of his life, but if he uses it well it could be enough to topple Beraht. He can tell Gorim already knows what he's planning to do when his second sighs and nods at him. Sometimes Duran wonders how he knows his mind better than he does.

“Strip.”

\-----------

Faren blinks. That. What?

“The armour needs to go back to Evard.” The Prince says slowly. “That tends to go better when you are not inside it.”

He shrugs out of the armour much more quickly than it took for him and Leske to work out how to put it all on, though it might just be the presence of the second that makes the difference as he steps forwards with a huff when Faren curses at a stubborn strap and is quick to unbuckle things so that they come off neatly instead of in a tangle of metal and leather. He peels out of the padded shirt and steps aside, watching as the second stacks all the armour into a bundle.

Now is the time he regrets having to leave his own armour in the proving grounds. Sure it had a fair few repairs and patches, but it was his. And he'd feel a lot more secure in the well worn leather than in just an undershirt and breeches. As it is he feels almost naked as the Prince surveys him and he scowls, crossing his arms. He's already going to die, he doesn't need some nug humping deep lord rubbing that fact in with his haughty disdain.

The clang of the door makes him jump and he's surprised to find they're alone, the second and the borrowed armour gone without a word. The Prince points at one of the other doors. “I'd appreciate it if you went and made use of the bathing facilities.”

“What, a last bath before I die?” Faren says with a snort. It doesn't stop him from following the order. He's always wanted to know if the rumour about the nobles having heated baths big enough to swim in is true.

It isn't quite big enough to swim in, but you could fit several dwarves in at once and he leaves a trail of clothing and his boots before he sinks into the water with a sigh of appreciation. He can barely even remember the last time he had a bath (cold water in a tub barely big enough to sit in). Dying after this wouldn't be so bad.

“if it makes you feel any better.” The voice is far closer than Faren expected and he can't stop the startled yelp as the pool suddenly feels a lot smaller with the Prince beside it as he efficiently removes his own armour. “I'm not planning on killing you.”

Faren just stares wide eyed at the Prince as he sheds the last few layers he's wearing. Naked Prince. In the same bath tub - even if it's actually a big pool. He continues to stare in confusion. The naked part isn't a problem, that's just part of life, he can't count the amount of time he's seen Leske's backside. And front side. Dust town doesn't have many proper walls and crowded rooms mean you just stop noticing it unless you're specifically trying to notice. It's just... Prince. Aeducan. He's not even paying him any attention, busy rebraiding a bit of beard with a frown of concentration like there's not a brand lounging in his bath pool. “You're not?” Is what Faren finally says when he gathers enough of his wits about him. 

The Prince ties off the braid and gives him a look that Faren is startled to realise he remembers, that's the 'I'm severely disappointed in you, you're being stupid' look that the old duster who taught him to fight after his pa disappeared would give him when he'd do something idiotic. “No, I'm not. Gorim's getting the armour back and will warn Evard that saying anything will result in it becoming known that a brand fought in his armour. I doubt he'll be stupid enough to say anything if he wants to keep any of his honour intact. I'll get you back to where you belong tomorrow when the Palace has cleared out a little.”

\-----------

Duran has to hide his amusement at the range of emotions that are passing across the other face and the several aborted attempts at speech.

“Oh.” Faren finally says and sinks a little lower in the pool. “Thank you. I guess.” The uncertainty in that is distressing, as if he's not quite sure if he's using the words correctly. Is there really so little to be thankful about in the lower levels?

“Come here.” He says with a wave of one hand, sending water droplets across the floor. The brand looks like he's about to say something before reluctantly sliding round the edge of the pool. Duran just reaches out to turn him round as soon as he's close enough, steadying him when he doesn't expect the movement. “Any preference on braiding?”

There's a startled sound and then a quickly smothered laugh before Faren answers, “anything that keeps it back?”

Duran nods as he settles in to get the sweat and what seems to be half of dust town out of the brands hair. No wonder half of them cut it off if this is how much they care for it. He half expected the brand to refuse to move and just tie it all back given how it looked when he took the helmet off.

He doesn't quite smirk as the other dwarf relaxes, some of the tension leaving him as Duran takes his time getting the tangles free before slowly braiding it back in an elaborately woven pattern that isn't indicative of anything in particular.

“There you go.”

\---------

Faren could close his eyes and believe it's Rica sitting behind him (though not with the pool and the whole naked part, that would be weird) and braiding his hair. She used to when they were younger, when mother was out trying to get coin, before they were old enough to really contribute beyond what they could occasionally steal. It's a nice memory. The braid is far nicer than he remembers Rica being able to do though, complicated enough that he wouldn't be able to replicate it again and he thinks there might be a ribbon or two in there that he definitely didn't own before tonight.

The Prince shifts out from behind him, leaving him without support and he surfaces with a splutter to soft laughter. A towel (a full size fluffy thing, not just a nearly clean rag) is dangled in front of his face and he stands up, carefully getting out before wrapping himself up. No wonder the deep lords don't want to share their wealth.

He pads after the Prince who stops part way through the next room and gives him a suddenly serious look. “I'm sure you're well aware that Gorim looks after me just as well as you look after your sister. Harm me and he will make you pay.”

Faren nods, it had been rather hard to miss, what with the looming presence at one shoulder earlier. And he understands the warning perfectly. Harming Duran would be the one thing that gets the second to break and he's not sure his sister would survive the fallout. He's strangely less worried about her being used as a threat against him when it's directly on his own behaviour - he can control himself and his own actions. Also, shouldn't that warning have come before he took his armour off and clambered into the pool with him? Nobles are seriously weird and trusting if he only just thought to get Faren's word instead of straight away. Maybe it's that he didn't even think a duster's word is worth anything, that is what they're taught to think up here if rumours are true.

“Good, because dying in my own bed would be a rather ignoble way to go.” Duran says as he goes into the next room and Faren cautiously pokes his head in, unsure where he's meant to be going.

“Bed's big enough for two, your other option is taking the couch out there.” Faren is all for the couch at first, it's actually nicer than his usual sleeping accommodations, but that was until he got a look at the bed too. He can deal with sharing if this is what's on offer. It looks like actual down pillows and fluffy throws, they're a luxury he's only touched once when he snuck into a stall in the commons before they chased him out. Not like he was going to steal one of them, a pillow is a little hard to conceal, nor is it edible.

\---------

Duran mutters a curse as the brand literally flings himself onto the bed and sprawls out. “I'm never going to get the chance to do that again.” Faren says without any remorse and the biggest shit eating grin Duran has ever seen. He can't really argue with that and he settles for slapping the nearest leg to get him to move off the throws and furs that are meant to be slept under.

If anyone had told him this morning he'd be hosting a brand and planning to smuggle him back to dust town tomorrow he'd have asked what hallucinogenic somebody managed to feed him. He slips under the covers, stretching out with a long sigh, he's going to miss this in the future. The bed that is. Once he has his command he'll be spending even longer in the deep roads keeping Orzammar safe and a small sleeping roll squished in amongst everyone else is somewhat lacking in luxury.

That was a good fight today, what he could really do with now is a good fuck. From his breathing Gorim isn't sleeping yet so he rolls over and reaches out to stroke a hand along the nearest part of his body. The sudden shift of the bed and a muted growl is the only warning he has before he's face down on the bed, one arm twisted up behind him and a knee between his thighs. The covers thrown down by his feet. “If'n you're wanting something it's polite to ask.”

Duran winces as his arm is hauled a little higher. “Would you believe me if I said I forgot who you were?” Dangerous thing to do as the brand is so aptly demonstrating. There's no way he can get free without doing some damage to his arm; broken wrist, possibly a dislocated shoulder, neither of those options are particularly inviting. “Let me go.”

There's a hum from above him and the pressure eases just a touch. He is not however freed completely. “Even if you did think I was somebody else, you still didna ask.” The brand states, a hint of anger in his voice and Duran realises what the issue that has him so worked up is.

“Long standing arrangement” He says as he tries to move up the bed a little. “I'm not a...” He doesn't finish that sentence when his brain catches up with his mouth. The popular phrase; 'Not a duster with no honour' wouldn't have gone down well since this duster seems to have a very well defined idea of what is honourable behaviour.

Faren shifts slightly, redistributing his weight, yet he doesn't release his captured arm. “Who did you think I was?” He asks when it becomes obvious Duran isn't going to finish his sentence. A pause. “Your second?”

Duran shrugs uncomfortably with his free shoulder. “His name's Gorim, and yes, if you must know.” It's not as if it's forbidden, or even looked down on to engage in such liaisons, especially among any warriors who enter the deep roads. A relaxed happy warrior is a better fighter. It just feels mildly wrong to admit it when there's another dwarf pinning him to the mattress.

“I see.” Another moment of silence before Faren leans closer, voice serious enough to make Duran stop and think. “Do you really want me to let you go?”

\------------

The Prince has already made it quite clear he'd be up for a tumble, so this is perhaps one of the stupidest things Faren's ever done, or one of the bravest. He's not quite sure yet. He's really hoping he's read the signs right or this could be a very long night spent on a couch. Given that he hasn't been told to back off straight away though...

“I.” Duran swallows, clearing his throat. “No.” It's barely a whisper of sound, as if he's ashamed to admit to any such thing and Faren is good enough to keep his delighted celebration firmly on the inside of his head, only a wide grin showing his satisfaction. Well now, it's a pity he'll never be able to brag about this unless he wants to incriminate himself by explaining how and why he was in Prince Duran Aeducan's bed chamber and in a position to be pinning the Prince to his own bed.

He's in no hurry to move, gently stroking over the Prince's skin with his free hand, mapping out the scars accumulated from fighting, noting the differences between them. His are from mace and hammer, provings no doubt, and one that looks like a stab wound, possibly an assassination attempt. Faren's got a whole lot more knife scars and smaller injuries from a lifetime spent brawling.

Duran hisses beneath him, twisting as far as he can go to look at Faren. “Stop teasing me and get on with it.” Faren raises an eyebrow and leans forwards until he's lying on the other, driving Duran deeper into the mattress as he squirms, a soft whine escaping him as he grits his teeth against the pressure on his shoulder again.

“No.” Faren smiles, nipping at the nearest exposed ear. “I'll let you go if you ask, but otherwise, my rules.” There's a shudder beneath him and no sign of the Noble asking him anything. It's a pity there's nothing to hand that he could use as a restraint, but he can survive without.

He goes back to what he was doing, ignoring the hissing breaths beneath him. He has to wonder if the Prince has ever submitted to anyone before or if nobody else has dared try it. Because unless Faren's misreading him, he's certainly enjoying himself. There's just one thing he could do with though, and he really hopes it's close enough he won't have to let go. “Don't suppose you have oil anywhere close by?”

\-----------

Faren has to repeat his question before Duran answers, too much of his mind occupied with the slow trace of fingers over his flesh and the hot breath on the back of his neck as he tries to stay still and not wrench his own arm. “Top drawer.” The pressure loosens as the brand leans over, his free hand rummaging through the drawer and Duran reckons he could get free if he wanted too. Turn the tables and put him in his place.

He doesn't move. A shiver dances down his spine as Faren sits back up and gently pats his arm as he finally releases it completely. He should be turning round. Or something. Anything. Not just waiting meekly. He's Prince Aeducan, scion of a noble house and he doesn't submit. Shouldn't submit. He is though. Is and will and he's not sure why. What traitorous part of his brain is refusing to move? He's never failed to make sure Gorim is aware of their stations. Perhaps that's it. He'll never see the brand again, who's going to know?

“Relax.” The voice above him is amused and Duran bristles at the tone. He is relaxed. Or he was before oiled fingers stroke over his flesh and he tenses. “Breath salroka.” Yeah. Breathing. Good idea. It's not a bad feeling, a little strange and he can feel himself relaxing, accepting the intrusion. “That's it, keep breathing for me hmmmm.” He focuses on the crooning voice as Faren slowly works another finger into him.

Duran whines, unable to stop the sound from escaping as he presses backwards, he appreciates the slow pace, really, knowing he needs time to adjust, but stone, he feels tighter strung than a bow. Faren just laughs, pressing a hand to his back to keep him down. “I'm not made of glass.” He says between gasps, trying to shift his hips.

“I know.” There's a self satisfied smile in those two words, the sodding duster is doing this on purpose. “What do you want Prince?” And he did not just ask that. Oh, he did. No. Absolutely not. He will not beg. Prince's do not beg for anything.

\---------

Faren smirks at the aggravated snarl from beneath him and the curse that comes through despite being spoken into a pillow. He can be patient. He gently scissors his fingers, grinning at the indrawn breath and accompanying curse. He can be very patient.

And patience always pays off. Or usually pays off, but whatever, this is one of the times it isn't failing. “I didn't quite hear that.” He prompts at the muttered, half muffled comment from the Prince who's gone limp, apparently accepting that he's going nowhere and getting nothing till he complies.

Duran lifts his head off the pillow enough to speak clearly. “I said, can you please fuck me.”

Faren smirks in triumph and gives him a pat on the shoulder. He tugs gently on Durans hips, pulling him into an easier position as he can still feel the faint thread of tension in the body beneath him, not fear, but still wary perhaps, it's well hidden beneath excitement and Faren warms another handful of oil. If he's going to change the mind of a Prince on what Dusters are worth, he's going to do it well. 

That doesn't make it any easier to go slowly, gently rocking into him as Duran makes whimpering sounds and shudders in place, his hands rhythmically clenching in the pillow he's holding onto like a lifeline. 

“Ypu're beautiful like this, you know.” He murmurs against the Prince's back, one hand tangling in his braid and gently tugging, he's not expecting the full bodied shiver and Faren smiles. He winds his hand deeper into the Prince's hair and pulls.

\---------------

He's not expecting that at all, the sudden pain/pleasure as his head is forced back, his body arching to take some of the pressure off his hair and the change in angle is all that's needed for what was a nice sensation to become something else. Fucking stone blind nug humping fuck. He braces himself against the wall as the soft rhythm becomes punishing and he's trying to say something? Harder? More? All he knows is he's close and there's nothing he can do but scrabble to stay in place.

Coming is almost painful, and Faren's the only thing keeping him up as his body just wants to collapse as the brand finds his own release. He lets himself collapse as soon as the hands holding him disappear, his breathing coming in short pants. Why is some of the best sex he's had with a dwarf he'll never see again? That just seems monumentally unfair.

Duran ignores the brand as Faren hauls himself up. “I don't suppose now is the time to ask if there's any rope in here?” He hears Faren ask and he's still wondering why the brand would need rope when another voice joins the so far one sided conversation.

“Not that I'm aware of.” The voice is very familiar and highly amused Oh. Bugger.

“How long have you been watching?” Duran demands, Gorim has a standing invitation into his rooms and no longer knocks. He could have been there for, well, quite a while. He's not looking up from the mattress to hide the colour that he's sure is creeping across his cheeks. Gorim's never going to let him forget this.

“Oh, long enough to hear you asking so very politely to be fucked. And on the subject of rope, I could probably find some for you. I assume you want it for him.” Duran finally turns his head to glare at his second who's leaning against the doorframe with a wide grin. Of course that's why he wants rope and Duran's totally not thinking it sounds like a really good plan. Faren smirks as he finishes raiding the side table and returns with a glass of water to hand over.

“Go ahead and tell me you don't want him to.” Faren waits till he's sat up and just taken a drink before speaking and Duran splutters, ignoring the twin snickers. At least the coughing covers the shiver at the thought of actually being that helpless. Traitorous body.

“You can't tie up a Prince.” He says, neatly dodging the question. Because he can't tell him he doesn't want that.

“I'll note,” Faren says, “that wasn't a no.” Of course the brand picked up on that non answer.

A sly smile settles on Gorim's face and he backs out of the room. “I'll go get that rope.” Duran just empties the glass and hands it back before lying back. He's only got one night, might as well make the most of it.


End file.
